


Changing Hands

by Miss_Mercurial



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, First Person, Food, Love Triangle, Nobody knows, but why, female point of view, friend zone, random crap, servant - Freeform, you can't have both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4668443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Mercurial/pseuds/Miss_Mercurial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freyja Vanir has lived in Vanaheim for her entire life, and has been an indentured servant to the King for the greater part of her life. When she learns she is being sent as part of a tribute to Asgard to serve the rest of her indenture, she has to face the changes, which includes a few unsavory characters.</p><p>Warnings may change as the story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My friend Katherine](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+friend+Katherine).



The snow crunched loudly under my thick leather boots as I trudged through the blizzard-struck streets of the capital of Vanaheimr, which was named Vanaheim. I had always thought they should have named it something a bit more imaginative, like Madragondur, or something like that, but they did not. A large gust of wind whipped my dark brown curls around so they struck my face. I groaned inwardly, Biella, the head-servant of the house where I was indentured, was going to have a fit if my hair left any marks on my cheeks. She threw a fit when any servant showed any signs of unruliness, or whenever she felt like, really.

But no matter, the only problem I have to worry about, at the current moment, is getting home in this blizzard. After what seemed like years of struggling through the streets, I finally stumbled past the ivory and gold gates of the palace, which also happened to be my home for the last 18 years of my life. I slowly climbed up the long stairway to the huge, mahogany doors gilded with gold, minding the sheet of ice on those accursed ivory steps that always seemed to be slippery, and that wasn’t helped by the fact that the butler waxed them daily.

I waved my hand around the gold plated door knob, knowing that my slippery glove would not turn the knob. Thin, golden, tendrils of sparkling magic surrounded the knob, opening it on my command. I rushed in and slammed the door shut behind me. The last of the frenzied flakes that had blown in from outside drifted slowly to the floor and melted, added to the already rather substantial puddle around me on the, yet again, slippery marble floors. I considered clearing it with my magic, but Biella would spook. It was strictly forbidden for me to utilize magic, just in case I decided to rebel. But I enjoyed indulging myself when no one was around to see.

When I had stood in the middle of a fast growing puddle for some time, I heard a sharp call grate against my ears.

“Freyja Vanir, what is the meaning of you standing aimlessly in the middle of the entryway allowing a puddle to grow around you on the freshly cleaned floors?”

Biella was here.

I pawed at my soaking wet hair, disappointed, but not surprised, by the fact that Biella was more concerned with the castle than with the servants in it. The curls I had so carefully toiled for had all but disappeared, and I had achieved such a pretty curl, too.

“If these sorry excuses for curls are the reason you were late getting to market this morning Freyja, you will be sorry you ever learned what magic was.” she snapped, coming up to right in front of my face.

I shook my head quickly, my mind working frantically to find a different excuse. “No, not at all. I simply had a problem finding an appropriate basket. Your shopping list was quite extensive. I am sure that the guests will be impressed by the dinner, and the last minute shopping will be worth it.” I said smoothly, deciding on the ‘puff up her ego’ evasive tactic, which usually worked. Working with Biella all my life had made me a skilled liar. Not that I made a practice of lying to her. Mostly.

Biella took one moment to study my carefully neutral face before nodding, and taking the basket that I held in my outstretched hands. “I see.” She grumped. “You will clean up this mess.” She said turning to a nearby basket which was stashed in a corner, and stuffed with towels, for this exact purpose. She threw a couple at me before hissing, “No magic.” in my direction, and stomping off with my basket, which was filled with the past few hours’ hard labour.

I sighed, my muscles tightening in protest as I squatted down to sop up the muddle I had made on the floor. A few moments later, I was joined by Eileifr, one of the boys my age who also was indentured here.

“Hello Freyja.” He said in his soft voice. He gently removed the towel from my hands and finished the work I had started. We both stood at the same time and we stood silently for a few moments, looking at each other, words having been discarded, along with the towels he flung over his shoulder, one by one, which all landed perfectly in an empty basket.

“Show off.” I mumbled.

He cracked a smile, his brown eyes sparkling. “I have had plenty of practice this winter.” He replied modestly. “Did Biella complain too much about the mess?” he asked, indicating the newly dried floor.

“Oh no, she did not make much of a fuss.” I replied, with a small shrug.

Again, there was a small moment of silence as our eyes met again. Warm brown to icy silver-grey. We both sighed in mutual agreement to move on.

“I must finished my dinner preparations.” I explained as I moved away.

“Feel like switching?” Eileifr asked sarcastically.

“Why do you ask?” I tossed over my shoulder as I pause to turn around. “What have you been assigned?”

“The stairs and the banisters.” He groaned.

I let out a merry laugh. “Not today, Eileifr.” I replied with a smile curving the corners of my mouth. “Maybe some other day. When you have learned to cook.” I added, turning back and stepping quickly for the kitchens.

I was through the door before I could hear Eileifr’s sigh, and see his longing gaze at the spot from which I had disappeared.

As I quickly raced down the servants’ corridors, I quickly shed my soaked cloak, and hung it haphazardly on one of the numerous pegs attached to the wall. I rolled up the sleeves of my servant gown and ran the rest of the way to the stuffy, hot, kitchens.

“Freyja!” Biella sharp voice assaulted me from a corner. “Come slice these fruits. Create your fancy designs like you normally do.” She added, as she shoved the apron of small knives into my arms.

I wrapped the apron around me, and tied the ribbons behind me. Singling out a particularly small knife, I selected a pile of soft pile of large, round fruits, roughly the size of my fist, with skin the colour of honey, to slice and shape into birds. The pale, white flesh of the fruit spurted juice onto my fingers as soon as I cut into it. Oh, well. It could not be helped.

I settled myself down on a tall stool, which, thank the ancestors, had a back to it. My hand worked swiftly over the different piles of fruit, and my imagination took flight, carrying me to different worlds, where I sliced fruit for a private dinner with a loving husband. My imagination helped me escape from my dull life, which often threatened to suffocate me. As my mind wandered, so did my hands, I neatly sliced a petal off of a vibrant red fruit which I was shaping into a rose. Oh, well. I could eat the spares.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, then. That is the first chapter! A bit abrupt maybe, but I love it, and I hope you do too!
> 
> The next chapter will be around sometime next week, I will be counting down the days!
> 
> Please don't forget to leave a comment! But please, leave constructive criticism.
> 
> Love you guys!


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